


brick by brick by brick (these walls begin to cave in)

by RowanQuinn



Category: The Maze Runner (2014), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Before the Maze, How Do I Tag, M/M, Oh My God, but it is, if you get it, kind of, the romance is kinda not exactly there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 16:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2435834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanQuinn/pseuds/RowanQuinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seconds drag like an eternity. Maybe it is an eternity. Maybe he’s just a broken body laying on the ground, rotting. Maybe he has been already forgotten and this is all that remains.<br/>Newt breathes again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	brick by brick by brick (these walls begin to cave in)

**Author's Note:**

> It's kinda confusing because, honestly, I don't even know, man. Restless nights do things like this with my mind.  
> But, yeah. Unbetaed because - because of reasons. English isn't my first language, so, I'm sorry for any mistakes (if you find them, please, let me know, maybe? Uh).  
> The title comes from the song The House of Wolves, by Bring Me The Horizon (and which makes no sense at all when you read the story but - nah).  
> Ok. That's all. I'll stop rambling.

_Remember me when I am gone away,_

_Gone far away into the silent land;_

_When you can no more hold me by the hand,_

_Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay._

_Remember me when no more day by day_

_You tell me of our future that you plann’d..._

_(Christina Rossetti)_

 

Newt feels the cold crawling in his skin, worming it’s way inside him, fluffy white snowflakes falling as the wind howls. This shouldn’t be happening, should it? It never snows on the Glade. He opens his eyes and the sky is petroleum black; no stars, no clouds, no light. Or maybe it’s not that this is the darkest night he ever lived — maybe it’s just him.

“ _Newt_ ”, whispers a soft, thin voice. His name sounds like a prayer.

But it’s just him.

(no Glade, no night, no anything; it’s just him)

Newt closes his eyes.

 

**xxx**

 

“Tommy”, he calls; but doesn’t matter what he says, the boy’s eyes keep staring at the ceiling. Greenish brown eyes, all blurry and dead inside — but this isn’t right, because it’s _Tommy_ , these are Tommy’s eyes, and Tommy’s never this sad.

“Tommy”, he calls again; and the other doesn’t answer.

Newt sighs and rests his head on the pillow. He knows it’s not easy; the world is a bloody mess and the wrong choice of words could kill them both at any moment. But it’s always been like this, hasn’t it? Since he can remember, it was always like this. Do this. Do that. Follow orders. Even if there wasn’t anyone making them do it — they didn’t stand a chance.

“Please”, Newt pleads.

Tommy closes his eyes.

 

**xxx**

 

It’s cold again. Greedy ice clings to his body and hair, numb dead fingers trembling, tracing themselves a deadly way to his heart. Newt breathes, and it hurts like a punch in the guts; aching lungs and weak veins. The blood — his blood — is bittersweet in his mouth, and if sickness had a taste it surely would be this.

Seconds drag like an eternity. Maybe it is an eternity. Maybe he’s just a broken body laying on the ground, rotting. Maybe he has been already forgotten and this is all that remains.

Newt breathes again.

 

**xxx**

 

“This isn’t right”, Tommy whispers to him, arms on his waist, hands on his back. There’s almost a despair edging his words, and if Newt hadn’t known him so well, he wouldn’t have noticed.

 _“I know”_ , he wants to say, but this isn’t the right answer. Tommy doesn’t need him to say the wrong thing, give him the wrong ideas. He needs Newt to reassure him everything will be okay — he needs Newt to tell him they’re doing the right choice. And if the blond is honest with himself… He should’ve thought about it; he should’ve known that Tommy is way too kind to accept things as they are — Tommy is way too lovely to let everyone he cares about go when he knows they can not come back later.

Newt sighs. Shy hands and fingers, he touches Tommy’s face, looking into his eyes. They’re almost black; completely lost. The blond hesitates for a second, but, hey, that’s what Tommy himself said before, isn’t it?

“WICKED is good, Tommy.”

 

**xxx**

 

Bleeding feels like floating. Or should it be drowning? Newt doesn’t know anymore; his mind’s all blurry. His head feels like it had been cracked open and then… Then empty. There’s nothing, and he’s sure that there should be.

Despair fills his lungs in waves that send shivers through his body — or the parts of his body that he still can feel.

It’s not bleeding. _Dying_ feels like floating.

 

**xxx**

 

Newt’s trapped in a cage. Darkness all around him, there’s no light, no sky, no air to breathe.

Please, he wants to ask the metallic screams. Please, stop. It hurts his ears, it makes his head ache; it makes his stomach twist and he feels like throwing up.

 _“Tommy”_ , he wants to beg. _“Tommy, please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me here. Don’t let me go”_. And a part of his brain is sure this should have a meaning — this should make things alright, but…

Who’s bloody Tommy?


End file.
